Absoltum
by Kittenly
Summary: Arthur was skeptical when he was his agent shipped him to Midwestern America for 'inspiration,' but when he hits it off with a coffee-house worker who chases tornadoes in his free time, things get more interesting than he expected. Stormchaser AU. USUKUS
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Not much to say, part one of two. Hasn't been beta'd, though I've edited it, so sorry for any mistakes. Feel free to point them out. Part two will be up today or tomorrow. **

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><p><strong>Part One<strong>

Arthur Kirkland picked up his luggage from the carrousel and made his way towards the automatic doors of the airport and the shuttle that would take him to the car leasing agency. He gasped and almost dropped his bag as he walked into a solid wall of humidity.

After a moment of startled coughing, he recovered himself with a few controlled breaths and a string of colorful curses. The weather was just warming into spring, but already he was staggered by the heat of the sunny afternoon. With a huff, he strolled out onto the pavement to wait.

The shuttle swayed under Arthur as he glared at the hazy sky. Fields of soon-to-sprout soybeans and corn stretched off into the horizon, the soil dark and churned in neat rows. He ignored the few friendly attempts the driver made to make conversation, tipped and exited the bus without a word. Just leave it to his agent, a certain Francis Bonnefoy, to land him in the heartland of America, so far away form his own beloved London.

He threw his luggage in the back of a small car, attempted to plug in the address of the flat Francis had arranged for him into the GPS, and after failing several times, turned the damn thing off and pulled out the atlas from the back seat pocket. He located the town with little difficulty and with several more grumbled curses at the car, GPS, and smothering heat, made for the highway and his new accommodations.

He pulled off the highway and into the little town that would be his home for the next few months. As he had no knowledge of the town or where his flat might be, he pulled into a small coffee shop just a minute off the highway exit. He entered the shop, nose wrinkling at the smell. He'd never liked the stuff, preferring his tea.

The coffee house was empty except for the a single employee, who ignored the tinkling of the bell as he watched the television on the far wall with utmost attention. He was on the tall side, with bright blond hair, glasses, and a tuft of hair in the front that seemed to defy gravity. Arthur cleared his throat, but the man held up a single finger and continued to stare at the screen with a frown. Arthur glanced at the television, seeing only the weather report. The weatherman said that some of the humidity was moving out and the midwest was in for a few dry days. The man behind the counter's expression had turned to a full glare, though lightened considerably when the five day forecast appeared.

He finally turned to Arthur, wide smile on his face. "What can I get ya, Stranger?" he asked. His accent was definitely American, Arthur noted with resigned irritation. "We have an awesome house blend, though the French isn't bad either."

Arthur made a gagging sound at the mention of "French," much to the other man's amusement.

"Not the French then?"

"No, thank you. Do happen to have any tea?"

Arthur's accent was met with a curious glance. "Sure, black, green, herbal. I should warn you though, I hate them all," said the American.

Arthur shrugged. "Wouldn't expect an American to appreciate tea properly anyway. You don't happen to have loose leaf, do you?"

"Nope, just bags."

"Fine, green then."

"I'll bring that right out in just a second. Take a seat. Oh, and I'm Alfred. Alfred F. Jones," he said as he wandered behind the counter and started some water boiling.

Arthur stood awkwardly at the register. "Arthur Kirkland. But I need to pay," he said, reaching for his wallet and swearing when it wasn't in his slacks pockets. "Curse it all, it must be in the car. I'll just be a moment."

"Don't bother," Alfred said, laughing. "This one's on me."

Arthur raised a questioning eyebrow.

"What can I say," Alfred asked, "we don't get very many Brits out in the midwest." He placed a hand on the counter and levered himself over in what might have been a very smooth move if his back foot hadn't caught on the counter lip and almost sent him sprawling. He somehow managed to keep a straight face, however, and swung himself down rather too close to Arthur.

"Besides," he said with a smirk, "you're cute."

Arthur stared at the man, trying to stay expressionless, though the heat he felt spreading form the back of his neck was probably giving him away. He cleared his throat. "I might have been impressed if you hadn't almost tripped so fantastically," he said, summoning his best indifferent look. Arthur looked up and down Alfred, as if appraising him. He shone with far too much energy and Arthur figured any interactions with him would surely turn out to be both exasperating and exhausting. However, it did lend him a certain charm. One that was forcing the corners of Arthur's frown to twitch up against his better sensibilities.

"Like what you see?" Oh, and the flirting. That might have had something to do with it as well. Arthur's eyes flicked over Alfred again, landing on the rim of his apron. A rim edged in lace. White, frilly lace.

"Mm. Yes, that lacy edge really suits you. Really manly, that," Arthur said, trying to stifle his amusement.

Alfred laughed, though a flush spilled over his cheeks. He picked at the fringe. "I inherited it from the last employee. She loved this kind of crafty stuff." His tone was fond and a small smile played across his lips.

"What happened to her?" asked Arthur.

Alfred looked up startled then smiled again. "Nothing. She just went to college out west. I should know, I helped her with her essays. But anyways, I haven't had the heart to rip it off, and it usually doesn't show behind the counter anyway."

The water whistled in the back and Alfred scrambled behind the counter again, though he didn't vault over it this time. He returned in a flash with a steaming cup and a few packets of sugar. Arthur found himself a table and sat down, stirring in the sugars as he let the tea steep. He brought out some papers from his pocket and glared as he uncreased them. He tossed aside his flight itinerary and car lease arrangements and smoothed out a piece covered in overly ornamental cursive. The paper contained directions and information about the flat handwritten by his agent, Francis (Arthur had misplaced his official copy a while ago).

A sudden thud from across the table jolted Arthur back to the present. Alfred, still in his apron, had crashed into the seat across from Arthur and stared at him over the rim of his own coffee mug.

Arthur could only look back, letting the silence hang as he searched for something to say.

"Aren't you a little old for this job?" Oh, that wasn't quite what he had wanted. But it was true, Alfred seemed only just younger than Arthur, mid- to late twenties at the youngest, and not someone who should be stuck with a college student job.

Alfred shrugged. "I guess."

"Well why isn't a nice American heartland boy like you out living your 'American Dream' or whatever you call it?"

"Heartland? You've got it all wrong, Artie," Alfred said. "I'm not from the midwest. Upstate New York, born and raised. And I am living out my 'American Dream.'"

"Arthur," the other corrected automatically. "So how is working for near minimum wage at a coffee shop in the midwest the American Dream?"

"This gig is just some extra spending money," said Alfred, pointing to the apron. "Wanna see my real work?"

Arthur swirled his tea some more. A bit more steeping wouldn't hurt, he supposed. He rose to follow Alfred out through the glass door and into the heavy heat of the afternoon.

Parked behind the dumpster was the most astonishing and hideous vehicle Arthur had ever laid eyes on. It had six wheels, long metal sheets plating all sides, and some kind of turret on top. It was as if a station wagon and a tank had gotten together and had some god-awful bastard child. Arthur stood gaping in stunned silence at the monster before him.

"Isn't she something?" Alfred asked. "I designed and built her myself. I call her 'TIV.'"

"This is your real job? You build and design the world's more revolting vehicles?"

Alfred clutched his chest in mock offense. "Hey now, it's not all about physical appearances, is it?" he asked, poking one of Arthur's rather distinctive eyebrows. He smirked at the blush flooded Arthur's face. "She may not be a looker, but she's the best our profession has ever seen, isn't that right, TIV-y?"

"And what exactly might that be?" Arthur asked.

"Officially, I'm a field researcher in Washington U's meteorology department who tracks, measures, and films meteorological phenomena around this area. I'm part of a team that deals with the analysis of data from our nearby stations. Unofficially," he paused for dramatic effect, "I'm an aeronautical engineer turned storm-chaser."

Arthur raised his eyebrows skeptically. "You chase storms in that thing?"

"You bet," Alfred said, eyes shining. "'TIV' stands for 'Tornado Interception Vehicle.'"

With a final bemused look at the monstrosity, Arthur turned and reentered the coffee shop, Alfred following close on his heels.

"So what brings a Brit like you to the States?"

"Francis, my agent shipped me off here. Said it would be 'good for inspiration' or some shite like that. I don't know why I agreed. Must 'a been drunk."

Arthur sat back down at the table and took sip of his tea. His eyes widened and he just managed to swallow the hot drink before breaking down in a coughing fit.

"That bad, huh?" Alfred asked. Arthur could only nod. "Maybe you'll listen to me next time when I tell you to just go with the coffee."

"Who says there'll be a next time, with this vile experience?" Said Arthur, glaring at the tea cup as if it was personally at fault for his bad tea.

Alfred's eyes widened as he jumped to his feet.

"No!" he shouted and grabbed one of Arthur's hands across the table, "You have to come back. Come on, Artie, you just got here, and hey, have a scone or some coffee cake, still on me."

Arthur stared at the man across from him, bemused. Alfred's eyes sparkled behind his glasses and he stared at Arthur with such an intensity that Arthur had to look down. His eyes found his hand still in the grasp of Alfred's. He extracted it and donned as much of a put upon expression as he could muster.

"A scone it is, then."

Alfred let out a whoop and proceeded to grab a scone for Arthur and a slice of cake for himself. He returned to the table and, as no one entered the shop, sat and chatted with Arthur. Eventually, the topic returned to work.

"So you said your agent set you here. What are you, and actor or something?" asked Alfred.

Arthur scoffed. "Hardly. Novelist."

"Oh, I guess that explains the inspiration thing then." Alfred paused. "Inspiration in small town Midwest? Huh."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Well, uh, there are plenty of heated discussions to get into here?" Alfred offered, showing something that was a half smile, half grimace. "Pick a topic, any topic: politics, weather, sports — especially sports — and off you go. Great for… dialogue inspiration?"

The sun was shining red through the hazy sky when Alfred offered to help Arthur find his flat. After too long of driving around trying to follow Alfred's muddled directions, they arrived and hauled Arthur's luggage up to the second floor where he would be staying.

"Are you always this nice to people?" Arthur asked.

"Sure. Well, usually not quite to this extent," Alfred said. He gestured around the now much more home-like flat. "It's a nicer apartment than I expected. I thought you were an author."

"My books sell. But I haven't had any new ideas for months, and that is why I'm here. Though honestly I think Francis just wanted to make me miserable rather than inspire me."

"Why would he want that?"

"A variety of idiotic reasons, I presume. He often seems under the delusion that the all good literature comes from misery." Arthur grimaced, "Though the fact that I still refuse to sleep with him might have something to do with it."

Alfred's grip on a suitcase slipped and he cursed as it crashed to the floor. "So… you're really — you know…" he stuttered, his expression indiscernible, "into that kind of thing?"

Something in Arthur's chest fell. Did he really misread the boy that badly? He fought to remain calm. He couldn't tell the implications of Alfred's question. He decided honesty would the best course of action. He couldn't really backtrack out of it now.

"I suppose," he said, examining Alfred's reaction. "Not that it would matter if I were or not to Francis."

Alfred stared at the floor and the fallen suitcase, a bright red flush covered his face and he fidgeted with his hands.

"I know that one's… _preferences_ are not so openly discussed in the countryside," Arthur continued, dismayed by the boy's reaction, "So I apologize for my forwardness. But I have to say, I was under the impression that you were of the same persuasion." He tried to ignore the way Alfred's wide eyed face shot up at this and opened his mouth to continue. An almost manic giggle cut him off. Arthur scowled.

"Hold up there Artie—"

"_Arthur_"

"Fine, Arthur," he said and reached out to squeeze Arthur's shoulder. "You're right, on both counts, it's not really something discussed in a small town like this but I wasn't messing with you. I am, uh, of _that _persuasion. We have been flirting the entire afternoon, haven't we?"

"Flirting?" asked Arthur, suddenly flustered. Of course that was what they had been doing, but naming it sent blood flooding into Arthur's face and he found he was uncomfortable with the fact now that it was acknowledged. "I don't— that is to say— I mean—"

"You were flirting. Come on, you can't accept three free scones from a dashingly handsome coffeehouse worker and not call it flirting."

"I only accepted because you were being pushy—"

Alfred only chuckled and waved off Arthur's protestations.

"See you tomorrow then, Artie?" he said as he walked out of the door.

"Fine, but—" Arthur was cut off by the door slamming. He stared at the door for a few moments and managed to calm down. He sank onto the couch her and Alfred had dragged up the stairs together, suddenly exhausted. Well, he had certainly called it. Alfred had left him worn out, though he was more excited than he would ever admit to meet with him again.

The following Monday found Arthur walking into the coffee shop again, as had become routine over the past week. The bell chimed as he entered and he was surprised when the usual enthusiastic greeting didn't come. He glanced over to the counter and saw an unfamiliar man standing behind it watching the weather.

"You must be the writer Alfred's been talking about," he said. "What can I get you?"

"Cinnamon Scone and a cup of hot water," said Arthur. He settle into the table closest to the counter and began working. After the first couple days of preoccupied flirting with Alfred, Arthur had managed to establish something of a routine. He'd come in around nine, his own tea in hand, have a scone with Alfred and then the two of them would settle into their own tasks. Alfred spent most of his time going through stacks of data print-offs from the stations, alternating between them, a calculator and a computer spreadsheet. He would jump up every once in a while to serve the couple of customers who came in for a drink or bite to eat. Arthur was surrounded by notebooks and various colored pens. His laptop sat to the side, closed until a worthy idea arose.

Arthur dove into this routine, making notes, crossing out ideas and working himself into a frustrated mess. Usually Alfred was there to sort him out when he got like this, but the different man behind the counter seemed completely indifferent to Arthur's presence.

"Sorry," Arthur said after awhile, grabbing the man's attention, "But where is Alfred?"

The man pointed to the television screen. "Chance of tornados today. And by the look of things," he said, face dark, "we're in for one."

Arthur glanced outside to see a black mass of clouds was approaching over the horizon. He gulped. It looked dangerous.

He returned to his writing, but got little accomplished. The storm hit not long after. Arthur watched in wonder and a bit of terror as the wind and torrential rain slammed into the windows, shaking the entire building. Sirens began to wail out in the storm.

"Tornado, hurry, grab you're stuff and we'll get in the cellar," the employee said, his face tight with fear that Arthur was sure his own mirrored.

Arthur snatched up his papers and followed the man back behind the counter and down into a storm shelter. A naked bulb hung in the middle and the concrete walls were lined with provisions. However the thick walls couldn't block out the roaring of the storm.

Arthur huddled as far away from the cellar door as he could manage. He was used to rain, God knew London had plenty of it, but this kind of ferocity was foreign. However, underneath the fear that pounded through him was also a sense of awe. Arthur had never known anything so wild before, and though it made him feel small and fragile, he couldn't help but wonder at the sheer power that hummed through the concrete wall.

He clutched his notebooks to his chest and gnawed on the inside of his cheek. Alfred was out there, in a home-made monstrosity of a vehicle. Arthur tried to distract himself, but he couldn't rid himself of the concern that was growing in him.

After what seemed to be hours, though it was undoubtably much less, the sirens finally quieted. Arthur extracted himself from his corner and walked out of the cellar. Notebooks slipped from his hold.

The coffeehouse was a wreck. The windows had completely blown in, shards of glass sprinkled across the floor glittering like crystal fragments. The entire shop front was soaked. After the cacophony of the storm, the water dripping from the corners of tables echoed eerily.

The employee gave a heavy sigh and righted everything as best as he could. Arthur gave his help wherever it could be used. Finally the store was returned to its original state, save the lack of windows and the still-soaked furniture. They packed the cash register into the employee's car for safekeeping and left the shop.

Arthur stopped by the coffee shop the next morning, expecting it to be closed. To his surprise, the slightly bent neon sign flashed, "open," despite entire panes of window glass missing. Arthur entered, the bell above the door making a hollow noise in the openness. Near the back of the shop, much to Arthur's relief, was Alfred, who was replacing the window glass.

Shifting from side to side, Arthur waited to be noticed. Finally Alfred looked up and smiled.

"Hey."

"Hello," Arthur paused, searching for something to say. "I'm sorry about the damages. I didn't expect you to be open today, in all honesty."

Alfred shrugged his concern off. "It could be worse. We're insured, so all of this will be reimbursed. I'm afraid we don't have anything but coffee. Everything else is drying out."

"That's all right."

Alfred's eyes lit up. A smirk played across his face, far too devious for Arthur's liking. Alfred sauntered up close to Arthur, who despite feeling his face warm, faced Alfred with a calm expression of his own.

"Were you worried about me?" Alfred asked, eyes laughing.

Arthur summoned his best scoff. "Why would I worry about the likes of you?"

His own actions betrayed him as he reached out and traced a light bruise along Alfred's jaw line. "What did you do to yourself?"

"Funny story. I was hit with half a grain silo," said Alfred, nuzzling into Arthur's hand while his eyes begged for pity.

"And TIV?"

"She's just fine. But the impact sent me face first into the computer."

"Computer?" Arthur asked, lowering his hand.

"Sure. I have to have some way to know what's going on out there. But I'll admit, it's near impossible to man the camera and watch the readings at the same time," he sighed.

The two lapsed into a companionable silence. Alfred hopped up onto the counter and brought out a thermos of coffee. He watched Arthur, who was staring out past the windows with a frown.

"Arthur? Arthur? You there?"

"Yes, I am. I don't suppose you'd want help out there, would you?" Arthur asked. He didn't meet Alfred's eyes, just kept staring out the glassless windows.

Alfred stood there, trying to process the quiet words. "From you?"

"I don't see anyone else here."

Alfred laughed. Arthur's head snapped around towards him, frown sliding into a pout.

"If it's that humorous to you—"

Alfred shook his head. "Naw, it'd be awesome! But what can you do? You don't really know anything about meteorology, do you?"

"No, but I took a couple of film classes in university."

"Really? I thought you were a writer," said Alfred, eyebrows raised.

Arthur shrugged. "I knew I wanted to be either an author or a screenwriter. So I took classes on both sides, including a bit of cinematography. I dropped it after some of my short stories were published."

Alfred positively leapt from the counter. He grabbed Arthur by the wrists and spun him around.

"This is so awesome!" he shouted. "Come on, I'll give you the formal tour of TIV."

And so Arthur found himself in the cramped, equipment filled belly of the beast for the first time. He half listened to Alfred's babble about the meteorology equipment. Most of his attention was focused on the quality film camera that was positioned in the turret. He played around with it, his skills rusty from disuse, but they were there all the same.

The weather was pleasant for the next several weeks, dry for this time of year. Alfred grew ever more fidgety in the coffee shop, and he often spent far too long gazing out wistfully at the friendly sky.

The shop was fully repaired in no time, thanks to Alfred. He leaned back in his chair, feet on the table he shared with Arthur and waist covered by his lacy apron. The author sat across from him, making notes to himself and looking just as frustrated as usual.

Alfred glanced up at the muted television screen. The weather channel was playing, as normal, and he found what he had been waiting for. He turned the volume on.

"— Warm from the gulf. It'll be on it's way up here tonight, and that with the arctic front moving in from the north means that there will be tornado warnings all across the midwest."

The screen changed to the radar. Sure enough, Alfred saw the fronts converging right over them. He let out a little whoop and turned to Arthur.

"What do you say, Artie? Wanna chase down some storms tomorrow?"

Arthur's nodded looking at the screen. He felt excitement well up in him, though there was anxiety as well. "I believe I do. Mad as it is."

Alfred reached over and gave Arthur's hand a gentle squeeze.

"No need to be nervous. Nothing bad's gonna happen, I mean, I'll be there won't I?" he said with a cheeky grin.

Arthur just chuckled and shook his head, though he returned the squeeze.

The rain woke Arthur. Torrents, sheets of it pounded against the windows in his room. He glanced over at his clock, only to be met with flashing red numbers. They power had flickered sometime in the night. With a sigh, he turned on his bedside lamp, which worked, to his relief, and found his watch said 4:30. He lifted himself from the bed and got dressed. Alfred would be arriving soon.

Sure enough, Arthur was just through his second cup of tea when he heard a pounding on the door. He opened it to find a thoroughly soaked Alfred outside his door.

"Come on!" he said. "We have to get going, I've been tracking the storm all night, and there are several likely spots just outside of town."

Alfred dragged him from his flat, barely letting him lock it behind him, and out into the downpour. They raced into the relative dryness that was TIV. Alfred jumped into the drivers seat and turned his key in the ignition. Arthur crawled into the front beside Alfred, who looked out through a thick windshield. He strapped himself in and they set off down the highway.

It was lucky the road was empty. The windshield wipers could hardly keep up with the sheets of rain and thus visibility was terrible. On several occasions the wheels migrated off the road and onto the muddy shoulder, causing Arthur to swear and Alfred to yelp and swerve TIV back onto the road.

"Hey, Artie, do you mind taking over?" Alfred asked as they approached the heart of the storm.

"Alright."

They stopped, unbuckled, and Arthur took the wheel as Alfred climbed in the back to the computer screens.

"Awesome!" said Alfred. "There's a hook sweeping back not too far from here. Gun it, Artie, we should be able to make it."

Arthur complied, driving as fast as he dared. Debris flew everywhere, mostly harmless shrubs and plants, but he had to swerve occasionally to dodge the occasional siding ripped from nearby homes.

Arthur jumped when a sudden barrage hit the windshield.

"What's going on?" called Alfred from the back.

"I'm not sure," said Arthur. "I think it might be hail? But this late in the year—"

"Damn it! Pull over, now!"

Arthur pulled over. Alfred hurdled over the equipment in the back and shoved Arthur out of the driver's seat.

"Sorry, but this is bad," he said, the thwacking of the hail grew louder as now golf ball-sized chunks pelted the vehicle. "Wind, rain, most debris even, TIV can handle. But hail…" he trailed off.

"Isn't it too warm for ice?" Arthur asked.

"Not really. Hail's not all that uncommon in tornadoes."

A smash. A palm sized dent appeared in the glass.

"Shit!"

"Really," Alfred agreed. "We're getting out of here. Hold on."

TIV struggled to turn around on the small highway, but the tank-like body was too long for the narrow road. One wheel, followed quickly by the rest slipped off the shoulder and sent the vehicle sliding into an irrigation ditch that ran beside the road.

"Come on, baby!" said Alfred as he shoved his glasses up his nose. He threw it into reverse, but the mud just slipped out from under the wheels. Hailstones smashed along the body, some denting or tearing the metal sheets that lined the vehicle. TIV slipped all the way into the ditch, mud squishing up under, coating the wheels and sides.

More circles of nearly-cracked glass appeared as the hail grew heavier. Alfred desperately tried to get traction, but TIV had already sunk deep into the mud. She wasn't going anywhere.

Flinching as another hailstone smashed against the windshield, Arthur grabbed Alfred and hauled him away from the window.

"You're just getting us more stuck," he shouted over the storm. "We'll have to wait it out."

With a resounding crack, a hole was punched through the glass. A chunk of ice fell onto the driver's seat, right where Alfred had been sitting.

Arthur pulled them back behind the computers as more ice smashed into the front cabin. Alfred looked in shock as the windshield was destroyed. He finally snapped himself out of his shock. Turning to his computer screen, he watched the radar. Hail was the most deadly thing a storm could hurl at them, as TIV's broken windshield proved. He stared at the screen, blocking everything else out. He lost his fear in calculating and recalculating the directions and timetables of the storm, switching from radar screen to readouts and back again.

Arthur was frightened himself, though his unfamiliarity with the situation dulled the sensation. He pulled himself up into the turret, where the glass seemed to be holding up adequately, and ran the camera, hoping to get something out of the experience. He faced the camera ahead and ducked back down to Alfred, out of the roaring of the storm.

He crouched close to Alfred, not quite touching. Alfred hadn't seemed to register his presence and so Arthur was surprised when Alfred's arm found its way around his waist, pulling him close. Arthur's cheeks flushed, though he did not pull away.

Eventually the pounding subsided and faded into rain. Alfred relaxed and only then noticed his proximity to Arthur. He blushed and let go.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Quite alright," Arthur said, not meeting his eyes.

"This wasn't quite how things were supposed to go."

Arthur let out a sarcastic chuckle. "I assumed so. What do we do now?"

"Once the storm lets up, we go out and try to wave someone down."

"Why not call the emergency services?"

Alfred sighed, his face was tired. "They'll have enough to deal with. Injuries, stuff like that. We're fine, just shaken up, no need to take their attention away from someone who really needs it."

Arthur nodded. That was a new side of Alfred, one he decided he liked very much. "That's rather… noble of you."

Alfred laughed. "Yeah, that's me. A hero. Well, that is the point of all this," he said, waving at all the computers and equipment. "The more we know, the better we can be prepared and the fewer people get hurt."

"And the fact that it's an adrenaline trip has nothing to do with it?"

Alfred chuckled and found Arthur's hand again. He locked their fingers together.

"You got me there. Really nothing like it, is there?" he said, sighing and leaning into Arthur's shoulder before adding, "Though I wouldn't mind skipping the windshield-bashing-in next time."

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><p><strong>AN: That was fun~**

**This was inspired by the IMAX film Tornado Alley, which is awesome. Yes, TIV exists, and she's awesome. **

**Reviews make my life, just sayin'  
><strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Part two! Thanks to those amazing people who reviewed/sub'd/fav'd. You make my life. Unbeta'd. So sorry for any mistakes...**

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><p><strong>Part Two<br>**

It took Alfred several weeks to refit TIV with a new, thicker windshield. During that time a few more severe storms went through the area, leaving Arthur and Alfred to huddle together in the basement of the coffee shop. Despite the sirens, no tornados touched down and damage to the town was minimal. Oddly enough, during those times waiting in the cellar, Arthur noticed that Alfred was more frightened than when they were out in the middle of it all.

In one particularly memorable incident, the bulb flickered and went out, leaving them in darkness. Nothing seemed off at first. Arthur and Alfred sat side by side, chatting idly. The wind grew in volume, whistling eerily around the building. Alfred began giving shorter and shorter responses until he stopped altogether. They sat in silence until a particularly violent blast saw Alfred clinging onto Arthur. Arthur tried his best to soothe the panicking man, and though he would never admit it, he quite enjoyed the weight of those warm arms around his middle.

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><p>A Tuesday morning dawned bright despite the grey overcast sky. Arthur was enjoying his morning tea while Alfred served the morning crowd. After all the customers had either departed or were seated, Alfred joined Arthur. They chatted until interrupted by Alfred's cellphone. He flipped it open and listened a moment before launching into meteorology babble. Arthur let the words slid over his ears, not comprehending but enjoying the sound of the words as they tumbled from Alfred's tongue.<p>

"Really? A supercell? You're sure, right?" Alfred paused again then groped across the table for a pad of paper and a pencil and scribbled notes with the phone pressed to his ear. "Yeah, circling updraft, definitely a mesocyclone present. LP? HP?"

Arthur had the vague realization that it was turning him on.

"Really? Low precipitation then? No rain-wrapping? Awesome," Alfred said as he stood and got his computer from behind the coffee counter. He shifted the phone to the other ear and opened what Arthur assumed to be some kind of radar screen.

"Oh, yeah. She's a beauty, and right in my neck of the woods. Thanks, Tony, this has a ton of potential. I'll tell you if we get anything. Yeah, I did said we. What of— hey— shut up," Alfred said with a slight flush. "I'll talk to you later. Wish me luck. Mm, bye" He snapped the phone shut, and unable to suppress his grin he beamed at Arthur who gazed back, amused. Alfred hopped up and asked the remaining customers if they would mind if he closed up early. Alfred bounced on his toes as they filed out with the occasional concerned glance back.

Alfred shut the door and locked it behind them then rushed behind the counter to turn off and unplug all the coffee machines. After, he barreled out into Arthur, latching onto his hand and pulling him behind, Arthur's coat still hanging off one shoulder.

"Come on!"

Arthur was dragged out through the back entrance by his wrist and through the blustery parking lot. Arthur slid into the drivers seat and pulled his jacket on fully. Alfred pulled out his laptop with the radar screen.

"Looks most promising out a ways from the highway."

A black front of clouds was approaching from the south, heavy, but not releasing its load of rain. Alfred moved back to the more precise instruments in back. The rolled out of the parking lot and out onto the highway.

"Hey, Arthur? You see the storm wall to your left?" Alfred called around the computers.

"Sure." The advancing wall of black cloud was impossible to miss. "Am I looking for something in particular?"

"Yeah. Are there some clouds that look like they're falling from the main bunch? Kinda wispy-like, hanging just under the main anvil."

"I think I see what you mean."

Alfred poked his head out from the back, squinting at the skyline. All traces of a smile were gone from his face, but his eyes still shone behind his glasses.

"Good, that's the cloud wall right there. Main location for the updrafts in the metacyclone. Our best chances for tornadoes are from within there, so keep an eye on it. As good as radar is, just plain looking is the best way to find the actual tornado."

He ducked back to his screens, occasionally asking for descriptions of the front from Arthur. The clouds swirled and rolled forward, gaining ground on TIV. Arthur watched the lightning fork across the sky with apprehension. His heart was beginning to race as the winds hit TIV, rocking her occasionally from side to side.

"See anything yet, Artie?"

"It's getting hard to see. Maybe? Anything on the computers?"

"I think there might be," said Alfred, popping into the front cabin. He glanced up and down the cloud wall, searching for the signs of a funnel cloud. "Hell yeah!" he shouted, pointing out into the wind-spun clouds. "I think that's our twister."

Alfred leapt back into the rear cabin to his data printouts. After a moment he called up to Arthur. "I've got it's course. We need to make a beeline for it if we're going to get there in time. Turn right on the next road we find," he said slinging himself into the passenger's seat map and readout in hand.

Another gust of wind blasted the side of TIV. As they rocked to the side, Alfred noticed Arthur's strangled grip on the wheel. His knuckles were bleached white with the force of his hold and clammy, along with the rest of his body.

Alfred reach out and rested his hand on one of Arthur's. "We're almost to our target location. Nothing's going to happen," he said, rubbing circles with his thumb.

Arthur's tension did not subside. "You said that last time, git. If you don't recall, we nearly were killed and we didn't even get a tornado to show for it."

Alfred sighed. "That was a fluke. I'm not worried, everything seems perfect."

"You just had to say that, didn't you? Why not throw a 'nothing could possibly go wrong' in there for good measure. See, I have to worry enough for the both of us."

"Then don't whine to me when you give yourself ulcers or something. Right up here," Alfred said, pointing to a small gravel road that split off and ran at an angle from the highway. TIV rolled onto it, then bumped down the road.

Alfred watched the storm wall approach, keeping an eye on the swirling center of the metacyclone. "Look, Arthur! We have a funnel cloud!" he shouted.

Arthur glanced to the side. The front edge of the storm seemed to be collapsing in on itself, folding and pressing into one point in the middle. A finger of cloud reached out from the center, poking down then retreating, as if testing the air before it made it's descent. The funnel grew ever bolder and Arthur watched as it finally touched down, sending up a bottom cloud of water vapor that looked like billowing smoke.

The storm edged forward, twister growing at the forefront. It was a big one, and it was headed straight for them.

"Hold up here, Artie, this is perfect."

Arthur parked TIV and cut the motor. The rage of the storm could be heard through the walls, and the noise was growing. Arthur pried his fingers from the steering wheel and sought Alfred's hand.

"Hold up there, Arthur," Alfred soothed. "No hail this time. We're gonna be fine."

"And how will we not be picked up by that monster and hurled across this godforsaken prairie?" Arthur asked, voice calm despite his obvious anxiety.

Alfred squeezed Arthur's hand and pulled him halfway into an awkward hug. Arthur squirmed in the grip until he managed to find a more comfortable position.

"I technically can't say anything one hundred percent, because something can always go wrong." Arthur snorted. "But the likelihood is really low. Especially one I lower the bracers."

"Bracers?"

"Steel spikes that slide out and bury themselves over a meter into the ground. Not to mention TIV herself weighs a shit load."

"Is that a unit of measure?" Arthur asked sarcastically, though he was reassured. Alfred chuckled and shoved Arthur away.

"Meanie. Can you get the camera up and running? I'll deploy the bracers now so you'll stop worrying like an old man."

"Oi. I resent that," Arthur said, ducking back to the turret. He stood looked through the camera, making sure everything was working. The tornado was in view and rapidly approaching. Arthur guessed it was at least a hundred meters in diameter. Not huge as far as tornados went, but certainly big enough for Arthur. It would be on them in a matter of minutes, huge and coal black and monstrous. Even from inside TIV's armored sides, the storm was roaring loud enough that he barely heard Alfred shout from below.

"Oh, shit, shit, shit! Why are you doing this? Come on, go down, dammit—What do you mean bracers three and four can't deploy?"

"Alfred?" Arthur called down, "Is something wrong."

Alfred's forehead was dotted with a fine film of sweat and his face was taut with barely contained panic. "Understatement," he managed finally. "The back two bracers aren't going down. Something's jammed them or blocked them."

Arthur looked down, speechless.

Alfred took a final glance at the screen then dove under the computer, resurfacing a moment later with a black, hard-plastic case. He hoisted it into his arms and made for the hatch.

"Alfred? What do you think you're doing?"

Alfred refused to turn around. "If something's jammed, I have to fix it."

Arthur stood rooted in place. "You can't. The storm's will be here in a just a few minutes."

"Better be fast then."

"Alfred—"

"No. Arthur, the winds in this thing are measured at over a hundred miles an hour. If that hits us wrong, just two front bracers will be useless. I can't risk that," he said and before Arthur could offer anymore protest, he unlatched the hatch and pulled himself out into the storm.

"No—Alfred, stop! STOP!" Arthur shouted in the empty cabin. Alfred- he was gone. Gone out into the storm, never to return. How could he? The tornado itself was almost on top of them. Alfred could never survive out there. And he wasn't any better. TIV was going to be at the heart of the storm, there was no way she'd make it with just the two bracers in place. _Gone. Gone. He's gone. _Arthur sunk down to the floor, pulling his knees into his chest and shut his eyes, trying to will the whole situation away.

Outside, Alfred was thrown to the ground by the gusts of winds, but he managed to crawl to TIV's back end, which provided some shelter. He dropped the tool case and pulling out a flashlight, dropped to his hands and knees to examine the tube that held the bracer.

Twisting around to see up the chute, he saw what was causing the blockage. A thick, sludge-like mud had gotten in and encased the inside of the tube so even the smooth steel bracer wouldn't be able to slide out. He groped for the tool case and pulled out the longest flathead screwdriver in the kit. He kneeled before the tube and jammed the screwdriver into the sides, flaking the mud off in almost dry clumps.

The storm wall hit. Alfred's ears snapped as the pressure plummeted. He ignored it the best he could. Icy rain began to fall in large, soaking drops. Alfred chanced a glance up. He had maybe about a minute. He returned to his task with renewed desperation. Finally, the screwdriver knocked a large chunk free and the bracer shot out of the tube, shining like liquid silver, and buried itself in the ground.

Alfred's whoop was torn away by the wind as he leapt to the last bracer. The same problem: gluey mud clogged the chute, though not nearly as badly. It only took a few good scrapes before the final bracer slide out, catching Alfred by surprise. The sharp point of the bracer caught Alfred's hand as he jerked away, tearing through the center of his palm, leaving a long, bloody gash in it's wake.

The intensity of the pain threw everything into sharp focus. He needed to get back inside or he would surely die. He threw himself around TIV, pulling himself to the hatch along the armored side. His hand burned and Alfred could feel every cut nerve and sinew in fine detail. He reached the hatch and braced himself against the door, trying to force it open.

The door was too slippery, from the rain and blood. The hatch wouldn't turn. The dirt beneath his feet struggled to find purchase in the mud, but he couldn't get the door to open. He could feel the moisture from the approach of the tornado's condensation cloud. Giving into panic, he pounded the hatch.

Inside, Arthur huddled at the base of the camera, hands clasped over his ears as he shouted every curse in every language that he knew. Finally, he was reduced to dry sobbing, shaking as he gazed emptily at the hatch door where Alfred had left. The storm raged, lightning sending grotesque shadows across Arthur's curled up body as heavy rain drops went_ thud, thud, thud_ against the metal plates. But through the panic and the noise, the horrible noise, Arthur heard a different sort of pounding, weak and irregular against the hatch door.

Arthur's panic-filled mind took a moment to process it, until it came to one conclusion. _Alfred._ Panic evaporated. His Alfred was out there, at the door pounding while he was sitting in a corner, trembling. _Pull it together, Kirkland,_ he thought, and he did, springing to the door and throwing it open with all his strength. Alfred was there, falling into him. Arthur pulled him in and summoning an adrenaline-fueled burst of energy, slammed the hatch shut.

The cabin was calm and quiet for all the time it took for one breath, in, then out.

The funnel cloud hit full force and both Alfred and Arthur cried out as their ears and sinuses squealed then cracked. They lay together on the floor, Arthur clutching Alfred and Alfred clutching his mangled hand.

TIV rocked and creaked, but stood firm as it was swallowed by the tornado. Arthur could only stare blankly as all manner of debris smashed into them. Finally rational thought began to seep back into his mind and he glared down at the man in his lap.

"I am going to _murder_ you," he said.

Alfred rolled his head back, looking at Arthur as he tried to process the words. Eventually he gave up and just decided to bury his head into Arthur.

"Hm'ever," he mumbled, and Arthur was only just able to hear, "Jus' tell me when it's done?"

Despite his better efforts, Arthur gave a little hysterical giggle and squeezed Alfred as tightly as he could. After a moment, Alfred seemed to come to.

"Arthur, what are you doing?"

"Murdering you."

"By hug?"

"Yes."

Alfred chuckled and scooted up until he was level with Arthur.

"Hey, Arthur?" he asked into Arthur's ear.

"Yes?"

"You did get the camera running, didn't you?"

Arthur jolted back and smacked Alfred upside the head.

"Is that all you can think about right now? Of course I did, you twit!" he shouted.

"Ow. Stop hitting me!"

"You deserve every smack and more, you daft, suicidal—"

Alfred caught him by the wrist with his good hand. "I get it, you were worried. But we're fine now. We made it, even if just barely. So now we should enjoy the fruits of our labor, and get what we came here for."

Arthur dropped his hand with a heavy sigh. He stood, leaving Alfred on the floor and fetched their medical kit.

"First your hand. I didn't just get you back to lose you to blood loss," he said, taking Alfred's hand, sterilizing it, then wrapping it in the gauzy bandage. When he was finished, he let the hand drop back to Alfred's lap.

With a tired smile, Alfred moved to Arthur's side and lay his head on his shoulder. Arthur rested his head on top of Alfred's and felt his heart rate return to normal despite the low, continuous roaring of the storm outside.

"Come on, let's watch the show," said Alfred, standing and leading them to the front cabin. He sat down in the passenger's seat and reclined it, pulling Arthur beside him. Arthur was half on the chair, half on top of Alfred, but decided he was too tired to care as he leaned into Alfred and watched the fury of the storm out the windshield.

The sporadic rain and black condensed air made it hard to see much detail except for the anti-clockwise rotation of the air. But what they couldn't see was made up for by what they could feel. The noise and force of the storm vibrated in them, still a sensation that frightened Arthur, though he was in control now. His terror had subsided into exhaustion, and as he lay there, staring up at the tornado, a sense of awe bubbled up in him. The violence and fury of the storm held a kind of wild beauty; Arthur had never seen something so wrathful yet undeniably free. Free in the power of destruction. Nothing could stand up to it, for even people, with all their technology, still cowered before it.

Arthur mused on the poetry of the storm and felt the creative wheels in his head finally begin to turn. Ideas began suggesting themselves to him, but he pushed them down to examine later. For now he was content to gaze up and let his mind run blank.

In a matter of minutes, the twister had passed them over and a short time later began to break up altogether. Late afternoon sunlight broke through the overcast, illuminating the tornado's path. A wide swath of land was lined with debris: slabs of rooftops, great tree branches, and not too far away from where TIV hunkered down, a totaled station-wagon.

Alfred was the first to move, standing up and retracting the bracers into their chutes. He bounced into the driver's seat and grinned at Arthur.

"So that was fun, didn'tcha think?" he said, beaming.

Arthur scowled. "I thought you were going to die."

"Aw, but I had you to save me! Well, you saved me _after_ I saved you and TIV—"

Alfred was cut off when a hand caught him by the front of the shirt. He was jerked halfway out of his seat and was forced to meet Arthur's bright green eyes. Startled, it took him a moment to realize that something was pressing softly against his lips. Two fingers, hushing him. He looked back up at Arthur, who was pink in the face though maintaining a convincing frown.

"I get it, you dolt. You were the hero first or some such rot," he released a put-upon sigh. "Though I suppose I should thank you." He dropped his fingers and leaned in, finding Alfred's lips with his own. A light pressure, that was all, though Arthur felt heat run all through his body, pooling somewhere around his center. That heat flared when Alfred returned the pressure, his lips twitching into a smile. Arthur pulled away, and when Alfred tried to follow, cuffed him on the ear with what energy he could muster.

"And if you _ever_ scare me like that again, by the blood of my ancestors I will hunt you down, and I will murder you in the most painful way I can imagine," Arthur threatened to a pouting Alfred.

Though rubbing the side of his head, Alfred still managed a cheeky smirk. "So does this make us official?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Do I get another kiss?"

"Maybe. Now take me home."

"Alright, Artie," Alfred said, stretching across the gap between them to peck Arthur on the cheek. "So… your place or mine?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hope you all like the ending, it was fun to write. The kiss took me forever; it's my first time writing something like that. So if you have any feedback on it, let me know, and I'll be forever grateful. **

**~Kitten  
><strong>


	3. Omake

**A/N: Omake time! Think of this maybe three of four years after the events in the main story. And my reason for a T rating. It's my first time writing straight romance, and it's a ton harder than I expected, especially at midnight. Fluff Ahoy!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Omake<strong>

A thin blanket was spread in a path between cornfields. It was a handsome, though well-worn blanket: hand-embroidered with golden thread on rich, faded violet material. Upon the blanket were two men, enjoying a picnic on someone else's private property. The taller of the two was shirtless, wearing only denim shorts and sunglasses on his head as he drained the last of his iced tea. His companion wore a white button-down shirt to keep the sun off his fair skin though the wicked heat and humidity had forced him into shorts as well.

Arthur took a pastry out of their picnic basket and gazed up into the blazing July sky. He took a small bite and chewed thoughtfully.

"How likely do you think it is that we'll get caught trespassing? I don't really fancy being arrested."

"Don't worry, Artie, no one's gonna be out in the fields this time of day in this kind of heat," his companion assured him.

"Remind me again why we are?"

Alfred rolled his eyes and stretched out on his back. "Because our A/C's broken and we wanted somewhere private for lunch. The house is an oven."

"Weren't you supposed to fix that, Mr. Engineer?" said Arthur, then continued, "Though I don't mind the privacy of this… corn field. It is nice to not deal with people staring at us once in awhile."

"I thought you'd like it," Alfred said, pulling Arthur down onto his chest. "God, I wish that storm would get here already. I'm dying here," he whined.

"You think you're dying," Arthur muttered, wiping at the sunblock filled sweat that was threatening to drip into his eyes.

"You could take off the shirt?" Alfred offered hopefully. Arthur snorted. He sat up, taking a sip from his own iced tea and fanned himself with the paperback book he had brought.

Alfred was persistent, however. He rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself onto his elbows. He reached out a hand and began unbuttoning Arthur's shirt.

"Come on, Arthur, we're in private," he begged.

"We're in a corn field, Alfred," Arthur replied, though he didn't make any attempt to redo the buttons.

"Like I said, private."

"No, not private," Arthur said, and held up his hand. "Stop. It's too hot for anything."

And so it was, the sun shone down through the haze of humidity blocked only by the dappled shade of the corn stalks. Though a storm front was beginning to appear on the horizon, there was no breeze in the field. Alfred sat up on his knees and gave Arthur a quick peck on the lips, but stopped there.

"Alright. You wanna take a nap or something until the storm gets in?" he asked.

To Alfred's surprise Arthur loosed the remaining buttons, letting his shirt hang open. He shot a sly smirk at Alfred before picking up his book.

"I'll read, and maybe fall asleep."

Alfred nodded, and returned to his back, gazing up at the sky. Arthur laid his head on Alfred's chest and returned to his dog-eared book. Alfred's hand settled in Arthur's hair, fidgeting with it until Arthur took the hand in his own and rested them on his stomach. In a matter of minutes, his eyes closed and he was asleep.

A cool, wet breeze roused Arthur from his nap. Alfred was still awake, watching the wispy clouds churn and grow heavier. Their hands were still clasped on Arthur's stomach and Alfred played with the platinum band on Arthur's ring finger.

"It's cooled off a bit," Arthur said.

"Storm's starting to move in. Thank God."

Arthur sat up and leaned over Alfred who smiled up at him.

"Hey," he said, reaching up and pushing Arthur's button-down off his shoulders so it hung around his elbows.

"Hallo," came the quiet reply as Arthur extracted himself completely from the shirt. He dipped down, kissed Alfred on the tip of his nose before finding his lips. His hand found Alfred's, and the sister ring to his own.

He pulled away when he felt the first rain drop. Alfred sat up beneath him and blinked at the clouds. Rain spattered on his glasses and he wiped them as he stood.

"Look at those thunderheads, I think we're in for an awesome show," he said, whistling. "What do you say, Artie?"

Arthur looked at the rolling clouds, that might be a metacyclone forming over there, or they might just be in for a straight thunderstorm. He still wasn't nearly as good at reading the clouds as Alfred was.

Alfred extended his hand, not looking at Arthur but at the ground. A small smile was still visible. The rain began in earnest.

"Shall we?" Alfred asked, with a smirk.

Arthur took the offered hand and pulled himself up. "Lead on, my love. Lead on," he said.

They ran out of the cornfields, Arthur with the blanket and his shirt, Alfred with the picnic basket. They clambered in, Arthur took the wheel and drove out onto the highway, into the heart of the storm.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: -happy dance- I finished something! Go me! And it's only a day after I said it would be out. Once again, thank you all my readers, this was a blast to write, and I'll get it beta'd sometime soon. Now back to my main project, which will update sometime next week. **

**Oh, and I was thinking about posting this on the USUK Comm on LJ, but am totally LJ illiterate, so if there is someone out there who could give me some help with that, I'll love you forever.  
><strong>

**~Kitten  
><strong>


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